


do not engage

by dogloser



Category: Naruto
Genre: ANBU - Freeform, ANBU Tobirama, Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Blood, Blood and Injury, Demons, Gen, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Horror, Psychological Horror, anbu sakumo, but like for the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogloser/pseuds/dogloser
Summary: Listen to me now, and listen well. If you hear nothing else from what I tell you, know this:do not engage.I’ll say it again. If you’re close enough to see his hair, run. Run, and don’t look back, and pray he didn’t see you. If you’re close enough to see his eyes—he’s got the eyes of a demon—if you’re close enough to see his eyes, it’s too late to run. It’s too late for you. If you see his eyes, start praying that there’s something left of you to bury.(or: the legend of the hound, and how tobirama, sakumo, and kakashi all look eerily alike. a gift fic for syu.)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 132





	do not engage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syusuke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syusuke/gifts).



> based on [this art](https://syusukedraws.tumblr.com/post/629223283435372544/hound-is-a-legacy-of-the-hidden-leaf-a-symbol)

Stories were just that: stories. Every tale mothers told their children to curb their behaviors, every eerie warning in forms of ghouls and monsters beneath the bed, all were fabricated, fake. None of those stories had any weight behind them. Every grown-up knew it. 

Which is why there was one story no adult ever dared to whisper, not even to the rowdiest of children, because it was  _ more _ than just a story. It was a promise of death, and it was as true as the sunrise. To believe it was fake was to bring the Grim Reaper knocking at your door.

_ That _ story was barely even breathed aloud, for fear of summoning the demon of legend, and yet every civilian knew the tale by heart. It lingered in the backs of their minds each time they watched shinobi leave and never return. Looking on the horizons from their villages, even when they couldn’t see it, every soul residing in a Hidden village could still feel the presence emanating from the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

“Don’t fear the darkness,” mothers would tell their children, tucking them into bed. “The dark isn’t what you should be scared of. It’s the light in the dark that you must run from. Pray it never sets its sight on you.”

The legend varied by village, but ultimately it remained the same. A being of death, something more terrifying than even death itself, a weapon of Konoha that was born in war, lived in war, and never died. 

Far away from the demon’s claws, and unaware, the newest ANBU recruit of the Hidden Sand slid his porcelain mask into place with a soft click. Aptly named Shrew, the young man was skittish and cautious. He seemed the perfect subject for the veterans’ hazing.

“Oi, Shrew,” one of the vets called. Several of the other lingering ANBU snickered amongst themselves as Shrew looked to the one who’d spoken, an ANBU known as Eagle. Eagle had been around for years—some say this is his seventh year, others say eleventh, both of which were practically unheard of, making Eagle revered as a god amongst men—and Shrew nervously approached the sitting man.

“Hai, Eagle, sir?” Shrew asked. He fought to keep his hands from fidgeting, although he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking rapidly around the locker room.

Eagle leaned an elbow on his knee and made a show of looking from side to side before beckoning Shrew closer. “There’s something you should know,” he said, “something that the higher-ups won’t tell you.”

Shrew tensed, anxiety climbing his spine and sinking tooth and nail into his shoulders. “And what’s that, sir?”

“Aw, Eagle, ya ain’t scarin’ the green kid with that hellhound story again, are ya?” Another veteran, this one with the mask of a Rhino, plopped down on the bench beside Eagle. “We can’t lose any more new recruits to that.”

“To— to what, sir?” Shrew asked hesitantly.

“Settle in, Shrew,” Eagle said, motioning for the boy to sit. “And we’ll tell you the story of the Leaf’s Hellhound.”

Shrew settled in among his peers and seniors. Apparently, the tale drew more of a crowd; other ANBU abandoned their activities to come join and linger, taking seats on the floor or leaning against the wall within earshot. Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd; apparently everyone else was well-versed in the story yet was still eager to hear it. 

“If you dare to start with, ‘It was a dark and stormy night’—”

“Aw, fuck off.” Eagle waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll start however I please.”

* * *

They say that the Hellhound is as old as the Leaf Village itself. It’s the stuff of legend, but listen well: it’s very much real. No one who’s ever seen him has ever lived to tell the tale.

_ “Then where do the tales come from, eh?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “If no one who sees him leaves alive, where do the stories come from?” _

_ “Oh, shut up, will ya?” _

Some will tell you that it’s just a shinobi, or an ANBU with a hound mask. Don’t listen to them. We call it the hellhound for a reason—whatever this thing is, it’s come directly from hell. It’s been around for generations, ever since the Founders. This thing does not die.

How do I know? I can already see the question forming. I’ll tell you.

We know three things about the Hound. The first is its porcelain mask—at least, that’s what it wants you to think. It looks like a standard Hound mask for a Konoha ANBU. It’s to fool you, lure you into thinking you’re dealing with an ordinary ANBU. You’re not. Never forget that, if you want to leave alive, should you ever see him. 

The second is that the Hound has white hair—

_ “White hair? And it’s supposed to have never died? Are we sure it’s not just some really old ANBU?” _

_ “Use your head, greenie. You think anyone can survive that long in the ANBU?” _

_ “Ah, well, no—” _

_ “And even if they did, you would want to tangle with someone who’d survived ANBU for decades?” _

_ “...” _

_ “...Yeah, I didn’t think so. Now shut your trap, and listen. What Eagle’s got to say, hell, it could save your life out there one day.” _

Like I was saying, white hair, always has been. That’s what they say, at least. I’ve heard some people say it’s brown, others say it’s been dyed red from all the blood he’s spilled. But most say that it’s white. Looks like the halo ring of an angel—if you’re close enough to see his hair, run. 

Listen to me now, and listen well. If you hear nothing else from what I tell you, know this:  **do not engage** . 

I’ll say it again. If you’re close enough to see his hair, run. Run, and don’t look back, and pray he didn’t see you. If you’re close enough to see his eyes—he’s got the eyes of a demon—if you’re close enough to see his eyes, it’s too late to run. It’s too late for you. If you see his eyes, start praying that there’s something left of you to bury.

The third is that he’s a harbinger of death. Thousands have been cut down by his blade and no one is spared—not fathers, mothers, sons or daughters. If the Hound sets his sights on you, you’re dead, no questions asked.

Death and destruction follow in his wake. Nature bends to his whim. He can make a tornado in the palm of his hand and call down lightning as sharp as any katana to cut down his enemies. He bends the earth into the faces of the hellhounds that serve him.

_ “Surely, someone’s got to have seen him and left alive? For there to be all these stories?” _

_ “Hai… Maybe some have gotten away by the skin of their teeth, presumed dead, or maybe they’ve fled and been lucky enough to escape. But the Hound never misses, never loses his target’s trail. Escaping from him once only means that you’re guaranteed to die.” _

_ “And he’s immortal?” _

_ “The Hound can be killed in the same way you can stop the sun from rising.” _

They say that the first Hokage made a deal with the devil for protection, all those years ago, and the Hound was the demon that the devil sent to him. His skin is white as death, except for his face, marked with the blood of his enemies, and his eye is as red as hellfire. That’s where the ANBU came from, to disguise the Hound among flesh and blood.

_ “Then how can I tell? Who can be killed and who can’t?” _

The Hound will never fall. His teammates can be killed, but he never will. Sometimes you’ll think you’ve killed him, or wounded him, but you’re wrong. Injuring him will only anger him, and killing Konoha ANBU will provoke his wrath. 

_ “What do I do, then?” _

Oh, the naivety of the fool. You can never escape, now that you’ve donned a porcelain mask of your own. As soon as you taste the first blood of battle, the Hound will know your scent. Your only hope is to fall in battle before the Hound finds you and drags you down to hell with him.

* * *

Eagle pulled a cigarette from his pocket. With one hand, he pushed his mask to the side of his face, and with the other, he lodged the cigarette between his teeth. A flicker of fire jutsu rose from his fingertips, alighting the cigarette—and illuminating the jagged burn scars down the side of his face.

“E-Eagle, sir?” Shrew’s trembling reached from his fingertips to his voice. “I thought ANBU identities were protected and not to be revealed—”

Shrew looked around. The other ANBU seemed to be avoiding his gaze, except for Rhino. The burley ANBU sounded grim at best.

“You asked,” Rhino started, “if anyone had seen the Hound and gotten away alive.”

“I did,” Shrew nodded, “but you said that no one had—”

Eagle spoke again. Looking at him, Shrew thought he looked much older than he had with his mask in place. “Escape isn’t impossible. But escaping twice is.”

Slowly the gears clicked into place.

“You’ve seen the Hound.”

A hush fell over the room. The tension was palpable and thick; Shrew felt as if it could choke him, should he choose his words wrong.

Eagle nodded. Without any further prompting, he said, “The Hound walks like a man who’s met death— no, like a man who’s beaten death. When I saw him, he was standing in the blood of my comrades. The moonlight shown down on him like heaven’s gates had opened to bring our ANBU’s souls to the afterlife. The white of his mask, and his hair, was the only part of him not covered in blood.”

Eagle lifted his chin, and Shrew had to force himself to meet his senior’s eye. This closely, he could see the burn scars, as if lightning itself had replaced the blood in his veins. The hand that held the cigarette was equally as burned.

“I barely escaped with my life.”

Shrew swallowed, although the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat felt so thick it could have been a rock. “And… you removed your mask, because…”

Eagle’s grin sent a shudder down Shrew’s spine.

“What did I tell ya, kid? No one escapes the Hound twice. You’re talking to a dead man walking.”


End file.
